Keeping Up Impressions
by dancinginthesunlight
Summary: Sixteen years old and he was too scared to open the door.


_For _**thegoodgirldoll**_'s "Make Me Cry in 2,000 Words or Less" Challenge._

**Prompts**: _Armchair, Vodka, Rape, Impressions, and Selfishness_

**Warnings**: _Strong language, domestic violence. Seriously, this was hard for me to write and is a lot heavier/more mature than my other fics. It's T for a reason; please use discretion before reading._

**Disclaimer**: _I own nothing._

**Word Count**: _1519_

**Keeping Up Impressions**

Draco Malfoy stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He had a full week left of summer before school started and absolutely nothing to do. For the first time in his life he dreaded going back to Hogwarts. Other years returning to school would have given him the opportunity to brag about his elaborate vacations to the south of France or whatever top-secret ministry matters he had overheard his father talking about.

His sixth year would be different, he thought wryly, ignoring the memory of the searing pain of the Dark Mark that was now branded into his arm. It was a reminder of his mission… and the fact that failure would mean death for his family.

Draco reached over to his desk and pulled out a snitch. At his touch, the wings unfolded and began to flutter. He released and caught it several times in a row, lazily.

That was when the shouting began.

Draco was used to it after hearing it for sixteen years straight: his mother would say something thoughtless and his father would yell at her for it. He himself was sometimes the receiving end of the criticism: _Your grades are slipping,_ he'd call from his armchair_. And Severus tells me that mudblood Granger girl beat you on her O.W.L.s, how the hell could you let that happen? I expect you to be an upstanding carrier of the Malfoy name, not some ignorant brat. Who was that girl you were speaking to? Clearwater, you say? Her father's a half-blood and a blood traitor. I don't want to see you tarnishing our family name again, Draco._

He could handle the yelling when it was directed at him, given that he spent enough of the year away at school, far enough from his father to avoid the abuse. But he sometimes wondered how his mother could bear it, living with Lucius all the time.

"…heard you and your sister spoke with Severus," his father was saying now, his tone low and measured, like a predator about to pounce.

"We did," Narcissa replied shortly.

"And did you not think it necessary to speak with me first, before asking him to become involved in a matter that concerns my son?"

Draco couldn't hear Narcissa's reply, but he stood up anyway and made his way to the door, propelled by equal parts curiosity and revulsion. He doubted his parents knew he was in his room; if they did they would move on and have their argument elsewhere in the manor, keeping up impressions that everything was normal, as if Draco hadn't heard them yelling at each other enough over the years. Merlin knew this house was big enough.

House, not home.

The manor was too cold to be considered a true home. It lacked the touches of personality that some of his so-called friends had at their homes. Crabbe's mother ensured that the house elves were always baking something sweet-smelling (this was likely the cause of Crabbe's heavy stature), Theodore Nott's father proudly displayed his collection of books on everything from the Dark Arts to history, even Pansy Parkinson's mother had painted each room some revolting shade of purple.

But Malfoy Manor remained a pristine white-grey-black that Draco sometimes considered worthy of museums. The only personal touches were the portraits of his ancestors, who Lucius often spoke of as paragons for Draco to emulate.

"An unbreakable vow?" his father was saying now. "You asked Severus to complete the task our son was assigned – by the Dark Lord, might I add –"

"In the event that Draco was unable to complete it," Narcissa interrupted.

A mistake.

Lucius lowered his tone to a dangerous level, barely above a whisper, so that Draco had to press his ear against the door to hear: "You gave Severus the opportunity to receive the Dark Lord's honor that is properly due to our family."

Pause.

"You stupid bitch!" the words exploded with such force that even Draco jumped. This was a new level of fighting for his parents. His father would call him worthless, a disgrace to the family name, pathetic. He would tell his mother that she was irritating, ignorant, meddling in things that didn't concern her.

He had never sworn at her like this before.

At least, not that Draco had seen.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Lucius was full out screaming now, and Draco hovered by the door, wondering if perhaps he should interfere – but no. These were just words, his mother would recover. "This is our family's chance to earn our way back into the Dark Lord's good graces," Lucius was saying now. "You fucking stupid whore just threw that away – what's to stop Severus from going and offing Dumbledore by himself now? 'Oh, but my Lord, the Malfoy woman had me make an unbreakable vow. I _had_ to do it, because their kid was too much of a _coward_ to do it himself.'"

Lucius paused to take a deep breath.

Draco thought he might have heard his mother whimper. Was this what he had been missing while away at school over the years? Is this why his mother practically begged him to come home every break? So that she wouldn't be alone with his father?

"Fucking cunt," Lucius said, his breathing ragged, then, louder, "Fucking cunt!"

There was the sound of something heavy hitting the wall, and Draco realized with horror that Lucius must have pushed his mother against it.

"Bloody hell," he breathed, completely and utterly terrified.

He should go out to help his mother, to confront his father, to… anything, really. He needed to leave his room. All he needed to do was fucking move.

Sixteen years old and he was too scared to open the door.

His father continued to swear, and Draco could hear the sound of his cane hitting the wall, interspersed with his mother's shrieks.

He had never heard his mother scream like that. He had never heard her scream, period.

And then it was over. He heard the step-step-thud of his father walking down the hallway, heading Merlin knows where, and the sound of his mother trying to calm her tears.

And then he remembers the jagged scar on his mother's arm last year over Christmas, which she had said was from falling down the stairs, and the shattered vodka bottle he had found later that day in an isolated corner of the manor, and only remembered because his father's choice of drink was usually firewhiskey. Draco had thought they were unrelated, but what if…

Bloody hell… how long had this been going on?

Had he hit her before? Thrown things at her? He hated to even think the word with relation to his mother, but… rape?

Draco was nauseous.

Cautiously, he inched the door open. His mother was sitting in a crumpled heap with her back against the wall, crying silently. When she noticed him standing there, she wiped the tears quickly off her face.

"Draco!" she said, forcing a smile and standing up.

"Mother," he started, but she cut him off.

"I just… tripped," she said, hesitating just enough between the words. "These new shoes your Aunt Bella gave me," she said, trying to keep up the impressions that everything was normal.

But she must have known that Draco knew that wasn't all.

"Mum," he said, surprising both of them because he never called her anything but _mother_. Even as a little boy he had adamantly refused to call her mummy or any other name that sounded babyish. So he repeated it again, because he didn't know what else to say. "Mum."

Narcissa looked like she was about to cry again, but she kept her composure.

"Mum," Draco said again, because it felt nice to say it, which was strange because he was sixteen years old for Merlin's sake, "What—"

But she didn't let him finish the question. "I've been so clumsy lately," she said pointedly. Then she strode off down the hallway.

Draco reentered his room, tears burning his eyes. His own mother…

He grabbed the nearest thing he could reach, his textbook for McGonagall's class next year, and chucked it at the wall. It landed with a satisfying _thud_, so he grabbed another book and threw that one, and then another, and another.

_Thud_. His parents, for fighting. _Thud_. His father, for hitting his mother. _Thud_. The Dark Lord, for asking him to be a fucking murderer. _Thud_. Crabbe and Goyle, for being bloody idiots. _Thud_. Dumbledore, for not dropping dead of a heart attack or something over the summer so Draco wouldn't have to go through with this. _Thud._ Aunt Bellatrix, for the bloody Dark Mark that still bloody hurt. _Thud_. Potter, for being bloody annoying. _Thud_. Himself, for being such a coward he couldn't do anything. For his selfishness..

He threw a few more books for good measure, then collapsed onto his bed. Damn it all to fucking hell.

Draco Malfoy stared at the ceiling of his bedroom. He had a full week left of summer before school started and absolutely nothing to do.


End file.
